When Johnny Comes Marching Home
by LithiumDoll
Summary: When Leonard L. Levinson said, "History is the short trudge from Adam to atom," he probably wasn't thinking about Adam Reese. But even scriptwriters have to get it right sometimes.


_When Leonard L. Levinson said, "History is the short trudge from Adam to atom," he probably wasn't thinking about Adam Reese. But I guess even scriptwriters have to get it right sometimes._

Once the Official had stalked stiff-necked out of the briefing room, Darien slid his chair back, stood and stretched the kinks out of his spine.

When things had popped in satisfying ways, he relaxed with a sigh and then dug out his most sincere expression as he turned back to face the table. "Well, that was great. I for one have never felt so ready to work for the Grain Inspection, Packers and Stockyards Administration."

"Oh, look, there's a whole section on _swine_," Claire exclaimed, with the kind of enthusiasm that Darien could only pray was brought on by the natural high of actually getting a budget this quarter.

Hobbes didn't look up from his worryingly intent study of the regulations. "Did you see the section on weighing grain in barges? I'm telling you -- that's wide open for abuse. Wide. Open. You think I should send a report in? We scratch their back, maybe they scratch ours …"

"I don't think I want my back scratched by the Grain Inspection, Packers and Stockyards Administration, Bobby," Claire murmured as she turned another page. "I don't know where their hands have been."

"Figuratively, Keep'. _Figuratively_."

Darien stared at them both and weighed the odds that Chrysalis had somehow snuck a mind-altering drug into the air filtration system. No, no, he probably wasn't that lucky. Anyway, at the far end of the long conference table, Eberts still looked sane. For any given value. "Okay, so I'll see you guys after the weekend. Don't have too much fun."

Hobbes raised a finger without taking his attention from the apparently riveting 'Inspection of grain in land carriers, containers, and barges in single lots.' "Don't think I don't know where you're sneaking off to, Fawkes."

"You do know where I'm sneaking off to. I'm not even sneaking. I told you where I was going, how is that sneaking?"

"How is that sneaking? When you tell me you're going bowling."

"I _am_ going bowling."

Hobbes shook his head, "You're not going bowling."

Darien grabbed his bag from the chair and held it before him: the damning proof. Or something. "Ball. Shirt. Shoes. You want me to tell you I'm golfing?"

Hobbes' eyes flicked up and warmed with smug amusement, "You say 'hello' to Adam for me."

"Me too." Claire seconded cheerfully.

"Please convey my greetings as well," Eberts chimed in as he finished gathering up his papers.

Darien dropped the bag on the chair – great, fantastic: he'd lugged a bowling ball around all day and for no good reason at all. And it was one of the really heavy ones, too. "Okay, I give. How did you know?"

Hobbes snorted. "It's been a year. You think I wouldn't know it's been a year? You think I don't keep track of these things so we don't have to wait until your hair goes all … flat."

Self-consciously, Darien lifted a hand to check his hair - still springy. "No, I know you keep track of things and – seriously?" He raised an eyebrow and let his hand fall. "You keep track of my _hair_? And that doesn't seem a little weird to anyone?" He turned his head back and forth between Claire and Eberts; neither of them looked up. "Anyone?"

Hobbes didn't rise to the bait. "Everything, Fawkes. Bobby Hobbes sees all and he never forgets. Mind like a steel trap_. A steel trap_. Ask me how long it's been since the Wendigo."

"How lon-"

"Year and four weeks. But you didn't go visit the Wendigo."

"No, because I like my limbs. All of them." Darien stared at Hobbes' expression of extreme nonchalance. "So you want to come with me, is that what you're saying, Hobbes?"

Hobbes raised his hand a little and looked away, as if the most interesting things in his world were inspection methods and procedures. "Hey, no. Special visit time and all that - I get it. Sneaking off. Not telling anyone. Makes sense."

Darien threw a reproachful look skyward and then spoke over the muttering. "Do you want to come with me, Hobbes?"

"Sure, if you want." Hobbes jumped up from his chair and joined Darien as he headed towards the door. "What's with the bowling gear, anyway?"

Darien slung the bag over his shoulder. "Eh, you know how I love golf."

"Nice shoes."

"Thank you."

They were at the threshold when Claire sang a drawn out, "Oh, Darien?"

When he spun back to look at her, she smiled thinly. "Remember our appointment this time - I don't want to be left waiting again."

Darien winced. "I said I was sorry. Well, okay, I e-mailed that I was sorry."

Hobbes patted his shoulder. "There isn't enough sorry in the world for leaving someone alone with Agent Hinkel for an hour, Fawkes. You could cut off a thumb, maybe. I don't know."

Darien looks down at his hand. "A thumb? I could do a thumb nail, but nail clippings don't usually-"

"Agent Hinkel," Claire interrupted flatly.

Darien reviewed what he knew of Agent Hinkel and had to admit, "You have a point. There was this thing, then this other thing and -"  She held up her hand. "I don't want your excuses. Or your thumb or your nail clippings, thank you." Claire marshaled her revolted expression into something more professional. "All the readouts have been exceedingly encouraging, but I still need to monitor you for the next couple of months. I know it's a pain, but it's important, okay?"

The hard lines around her mouth softened sympathetically for a moment before her eyes frosted over. "And if you are going to blow me off again, you damn well better not do it when Agent Hinkel is in the building."

Darien held his palm over his heart. "It won't happen again, I swear."

"Good." She smiled and made a shooing motion with her hand. "Then I'll see you later. Do _not_ forget."

A muscle twitched in Hobbes' jaw as they left the room. "She'll see you … later. _Later_, huh? Little late night liaison? Little get together? Little … somethin'-somethin'?"

Darien groaned quietly. "Don't start this again, Hobbes. I told you, nothing's happening. And if anything _was_ happening – and I'm not saying it was, but _if_ it was - I left her alone with _Hinkel_. That's legal grounds for divorce, man. And she'd get the house, the car, the dog … and I'd be cut up, because I'd love that dog."

"Who doesn't love dogs? I was just wondering. Showing an interest."

"Right, sure. Purely academic. Whatever. _'Somethin'-somethin''_, really?"

When the voices had faded into corridor echoes, Eberts spoke quietly, "When are you planning to tell him?"

Claire glanced up from the regulations; she'd almost forgotten Eberts was still there. "Tell him what?"

Eberts drew himself up and stared at a point just to the left of Claire's ear; a slight frown drew a pensive line between his eyebrows. "As you are aware, I consider my responsibility for the financial accounting of this agency to be a position of sacred trust, requiring the utmost in diligence and a scrupulous attention to detail."

Claire sat back in her chair. "Of course, I know the Official relies on you completely."   Eberts' eyes darted uncomfortably to hers and then down to the documents before him on the table.

"Your budget reviews have always been meticulous, which I have always found very-" He stuttered to a stop and then cleared his throat. "Moving on. The last three quarters have been significantly more opaque. Most accountants might assume this was the result of long hours and a busy mind, but I began to suspect otherwise. I compared them to your previous quarters and I believe that you've been siphoning a significant sum into unapproved research.

"Given the timing involved, I conjecture you've been working on Adam Reese's case. Your latest budget, however, made for, may I say, delightful reading; I must presume that your research, for better or worse, has concluded."

The impulse to ask Eberts if he planned to inform the Official was strong, but of course he didn't or he would have long before now.

Still. "Why didn't you tell the Official?"

"He was very firm in his request not to know. He said, 'Eberts, for God's sake, take those quarterlies away. I don't need to know how Agent Hinkel covered for half a ton of frozen shrimp.' Naturally, if he doesn't wish to closely examine grossly inappropriate crustacean-based claims, I must anticipate he would have an equal disinterest in your accounts."

Claire hid her grin in the face of Eberts' earnestness. "I see. Well, thank you anyway, Eberts."

"I did nothing to be thanked for." He walked towards the door and then stopped and turned slightly. "If I may ask, though?"

"I think … I think we're close. I won't tell Darien until I'm absolutely sure. I'd appreciate it if-"

"Of course. Well. My congratulations."

Eberts bustled out and Claire closed the booklet on grain regulations. The Grain Inspection, Packers and Stockyards Administration. _Honestly_. Just once she'd like to work for an Agency she could proudly tell her mother about.

-o-

"So the Xbox, man, it's pretty cool. Halo? It's so good you'll even love it when I'm kicking your ass." At the edge of his vision Darien could see Adam's shape, that was enough.

From across the white room Hobbes said, "He can't even kick Eberts' ass, kid. It's sad to watch. I tear up a little. Just a little. It's a manly tear. Not that Bobby Hobbes is afraid to cry."

Darien eyed him skeptically. "You cry?"

"Never," Hobbes said without missing a beat. "I'm just not _afraid_ to. I could if I wanted to. And when I see the high scores, I want to."

"Why'd you have to tell him that?" Darien looked directly down at Adam and found it easier than he'd thought it would be, riding on the tide of indignation. "Eberts does not kick my ass and Hobbes is a jealous little man. It's sad, but what can you do?"

"The kid's seen you play. It's a train wreck, my friend."

Darien glared flatly at Hobbes across the surface of the cryopod. "Some friend."

Hobbes cleared his throat. "You want to tell him about the whole gland thing?"

"Hey, so Keep' – Claire – fixed me up. That's pretty cool. She's still working on your case, and she's smart. I mean, scary freaking smart. Some whackjob's virus doesn't stand a chance."

Lost for anything else to say, Darien stared through the thin layer of ice distorting Adam's face and then smiled, "I looked up Kelly."

"And by 'looked up', he means he abused federal resources to track down a thirteen year old girl," Hobbes added.

Darien grinned unrepentantly to the pod, "Pretty cool, huh? Anyway, she's fine. She's okay, anyway. She was in charge of this special thing your homeroom class did for the yearbook. I'll try and get a copy, tell you what they said.

"So I guess she did notice you noticed, huh? When you go back, you can tell her you know she noticed you noticed. Women, I tell you: _devious_."

Hobbes grinned. "You'd know."

"Hey, I'm great with women."

"Devious women."

"Yeah, Hobbes actually has a point there," Darien conceded grudgingly. "But his track record isn't any better - all Hobbes' girlfriends are spies or assassins. Sometimes spies and assassins."

Hobbes adopted a martyred expression. "That's the tragedy of being Bobby Hobbes: beautiful, dangerous women. And athletic - I mention the athletic?"

"Hey, no talking athletics around minors."

"A boy is never too young to learn about the importance of exercise," Hobbes said urbanely. "Why, what were you thinking about?"

Darien stopped trying to cover the pod's ears. "Cute."

"Martika could do the splits," Hobbes said dreamily.

Darien rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's great. For her. You know what? It's been half an hour and Joe gave us twenty minutes, so. Look, I'll try and come back more often now, okay? It was a pretty … exciting year. Things are looking up though, we're not even having a crisis every week."

Hobbes rocked his hand from side to side. "Every other week, maybe."

"I'll be back soon."

"_We'll_ be back soon." Hobbes pushed away from the wall and patted the cryopod companionably on his way to the door. "Maybe we'll bring Eberts, he can tell you exactly how pitiful Fawkes is."

"Right, and after that, he can tell you about Hobbes' last expense claims. Maybe he can explain the knitting needles, because no one else can." Darien stopped on the way out and looked back. "Later, Adam." He pulled the door shut after him.

When they were halfway down the corridor Hobbes said, "That was a legitimate purchase, pursuant to the investigation."

Darien let it pass; exchanging friendly fire with Hobbes had lost its appeal.

"Keep' fixed you," Hobbes said quietly. "She'll fix him."

"Yeah, I know." After a few more steps, Darien looked sideways at Hobbes. "And knitting needles are manly too? Like crying? You sit, knit lacey doilies and watch Beaches, don't you? It's okay, Hobbes, you can tell me." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "It's Bette Midler, right?"

Hobbes gave his most inscrutable smile, "You crochet doilies, Fawkes. Everyone knows that."

"Okay, you're scaring me a little."

Hobbes slipped his shades on as they stepped out into the sunlight and nodded serenely. "I'm a scary guy."

Darien opened his mouth to reply, but another voice said, "I'm sure there are many who would agree, Mr. Hobbes."

-o-

Hobbes reached for his gun and Darien spun, trying to see where Stark was. Instead of Stark, he saw six – no, eight – men in suits and shades stepping forward in a loose ring. All had one hand tucked inside their jackets and stern frowns. Darien wanted to roll his eyes and couldn't see an immediate reason not to, so he did.

"Let's keep this civil, shall we, gentlemen?" Stark stepped out from behind a white van, wearing an expensive gray suit and a sharp smile.

"You come closer and I'll say thank you," Hobbes took a step forward. "That civil enough for you?"

Stark stopped where he was and adjusted a cufflink. "So, this is the _actual_ facility. We thought it might be a decoy: not enough security. A clever gambit by your Official."

"No, just budget cuts," Darien corrected with a bright smile.

Stark's own smile thinned. "I have no intention of underestimating you, Darien. Any of you."

Hobbes' elbow nudged Darien in the ribs. "How come I'm 'Mr. Hobbes' but you're 'Darien'?"

Darien began moving in the direction Hobbes had nudged him as Hobbes sidled the other way. "I guess the evil villain likes me more. Did you remember to send him a Christmas card?"

Hobbes shook his head sadly, "See, it's this kind of blatant favoritism that's so hurtful in the workplace."

They were almost at opposite sides of the circle when Stark said sharply, "Stop moving, both of you. These men will shoot, and they will kill. As you can't seem to be trusted with it, I think it would be best if you kick your gun towards me, Mr. Hobbes."

As Hobbes made a disgusted face and complied, Darien asked, "How did you find him, anyway?"

"A locater. We knew you'd scan the cryopod, so we left it dormant for several months before we activated it. We were in no hurry to retrieve it - prevailing thought was that you'd come here eventually. And here you are: an anniversary visit. Touching. Really."

The worse thing was, Stark seemed serious.

Darien looked around the circle of guns and then back. "You can't have him, Stark."

"I'm not sure you could stop me from taking him, but I heard a fascinating thing." Stark held up a thin, silver recorder and pressed a button. Darien heard his own voice, thin and distorted, telling Adam about the gland.

"Now, I am aware that if we take Adam and kill Mr. Hobbes and yourself, the Agency would take an interest. Frankly, I'm bored of swatting that particular fly."

Hobbes grinned through his teeth. "Buzz."

Darien shifted warily on his feet. "So, what?"

Stark shrugged easily. "You come with me, Adam remains here – the Agency can move him if you wish. Though I wouldn't recommend they remove the tracker, I understand it's quite integral to the workings of the cryopod itself. Mr. Hobbes walks away and lives to fight another day." Stark's smile widened warmly, "What do you say?"

"Don't even think about it," Hobbes called. "We got this."

Darien looked slowly around at the men surrounding them. "Right, we have them just where we want them."

Hobbes scowled and walked close enough they could mutter between them. "Silver up, cowboy. Do that voodoo that you do a whole lot better than you did. Hey, do us both."

"They're wearing those crazy shades they love so much. I have a plan: you leave, they take me, and you come find me before they kidnap the gland. We all live happily ever after. Except Chrysalis - they get red hot boots and dance the night away."

"That's not a plan, Fawkes," Hobbes pointed out. "That's a fairytale."

"Look, they're going to take Adam. You know it and I know it." When Hobbes grimaced and ducked his head, Darien went on. "So get clear and then get us the hell out."

"Gentlemen? I've given you as much time as possible to discuss your options – or the lack of them - but time is ticking on." Stark tapped his watch with a regretful air.

Darien narrowed his eyes and glared over at him. "Hobbes walks. Now."

"Of course." Stark gestured and a gap opened in the circle.

Hobbes shook his head. "I don't like this."

Darien laughed. "Really? Because I'm thrilled." He lowered his voice persuasively, "The sooner you go, the sooner you come back. So go."

Hobbes shook his head again, this time in defeat. He raised his voice as he made for the gap. "You touch either of them and there is nowhere you can hide, Stark. I don't care if you're some kind of Superman, I will take you apart. You got Bobby Hobbes' word. You got Bobby Hobbes' _promise_. You hear me?"

"I have excellent hearing. I believe Bobby Hobbes' vehicle is over there?" Stark pointed vaguely but Hobbes ignored him, jogging in the other direction, around the back of the van.

A minute later Stark touched a finger to the bug in his ear and then walked forward. "Mr. Hobbes has left the area. That was easier than I expected."

Darien smirked and jammed his hands in his pockets. "He wasn't kidding, you know that, right? Bobby Hobbes keeps his word – ask anyone."

"It's inspirational to see that level of dedication in those we trust to safeguard this fine country." Stark looked past Darien and nodded to the warehouse. "Bring the boy."

Darien didn't bother to raise an objection, although he couldn't resist giving Stark his most overdone expression of shock, and was rewarded with a twitch of irritation. He settled back into as careless a pose as he could manage and asked," So, for our readers, what's the plan with Adam? And afterwards - we have to know - Disneyland?"

"He's the carrier of a virus that has the potential to cleanly and efficiently remove the detritus from our path, what do you imagine we plan to do with him?"

Darien leaned towards Stark. "And you know – you're absolutely sure – you're immune?"

Stark's smile flickered and Darien grinned and sing-songed, "You don't know."

Stark nodded to someone behind Darien again, this time it sent a shiver of unease up his spine. He began to turn, but the familiar prick of a needle in his neck punched him down into darkness.

-o-

Claire picked up her phone on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Keep', anyone there with you?"

Hobbes' hissed whisper sounded so surreptitious, Claire hunched down in her chair and lowered her voice. "No, I'm alone. What's happened? Are you all right?"

"Stark knew where the facility was, he's got Fawkes. Probably got the kid too. I'm following them, but I had to borrow this guy's car a little, so you tell Eberts to make sure any BOLO for a blue Taurus with Arizona plates 5-5-5 R-V-V gets lost fast."

"You stole - look, if you tell me where you are I can ask the Official-"

"No, you have to keep this on the DL, Keep'. He hears about this and there are people he has to call. The kind of people who don't worry so much about the collateral damage. Alex's kind of people, you get my drift?"

Claire got his drift; she resisted the urge to check behind her and whispered, "What can I do?"

"If they let Adam out of the pod, how long does he have?"

"Could be as much as an hour, but it's more likely to be minutes. He was very, very close."

"Okay, and if he's out and contagious, how do we protect people? Can we get him in a suit or something maybe?"

"Maybe … but, Bobby, the virus – I've never seen anything like it. It presents like 'flu, but its incubation period is considerably longer, and its life span outside of the host is phenomenal. It's incredibly infectious, it's not limited to bodily fluids and it's impervious to most of the agents that would normally be used to kill it.

"I'm not sure even a containment suit would keep it back for long, honestly. Once it got out - and it would get out - all you'd need is an infected cashier, or a postal worker, a cab driver, and it would be statewide in a matter of days. One in ten thousand might – _might_ - survive. It could reduce the population of the world to half a million people in less than six months."

"Jesus," Hobbes breathed and Claire heard the sudden screech of tires and blaring horns in the background. "So we keep him a sealed room. Closed system. Filtration, the works."

"And then what? I told you, you couldn't use normal isolation procedures against something like this. It's a disaster waiting to happen." Claire heard her voice becoming shriller and swallowed it down until she could speak calmly again. "Our options are limited."

Hobbes cleared his throat quietly. "Okay, so what do we do?"

"I can't cure the virus, but I have been developing a treatment that will suppress Adam's endocrine system and keep his hormones below the levels that would trigger the virus. I'd effectively be giving him an artificial form of Kallmann syndrome."

Hobbes was silent for a few seconds and then, "What, you just had it lying around or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I've been developing it for a year, but it's untested. I wanted months more to analyze my results. I wanted to make the impact of the drug on his system less pronounced - it's an awful thing to deliberately give someone under any circumstance, being significantly better than a world-killing virus doesn't make it good.

"It needs to be delivered as soon as Adam is removed from the cryopod. If the hormones spike too far, it will only slow it down, not stop it. I … suspect."

Hobbes waited a beat and then, "You _suspect_?"

"Yes, I _suspect_. I'm guessing, Bobby. I'm working with months-old blood cultures, funding I've had to steal and no samples of the virus itself. At least with Darien I had _some_ direction. I don't know if it will work at all, or for how long if it does."

"Okay, okay. A guess from you is as good as sure from anyone else."

Claire rubbed at the ache gathering over her temple and forced her shoulders to relax. "Look, we have about three hours before they can open the cryopod; it was on its highest settings and they'll need to follow all the safety procedures if they want him out alive."

"Well, that's good, because we may need the time."

"What?" Her shoulders knotted right back up again. "I thought you were following them!"

"I am. And the five identical white vans that just pulled in front of them. Shell game, huh? Well you need more than that to make Bobby Hobbes lose the pea! Later, Keep'."

Claire hung up and dialed Eberts.

-o-

Darien nodded once as he started to come around and then jerked his head up as memories jumped over themselves to come to his attention. "Adam!"

From somewhere behind him, in the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the single light bulb hanging above, a man's voice said, "Adam is undergoing restoration procedures. The first Adam and the last - I admit I appreciate the symmetry. His creator's little joke, no doubt."

"Oh yeah, those whacky travesties of humanity and their little jokes." Darien swung his head around, arrested from looking further by the bars over his wrists, ankles and neck. He thought he was in some kind of dentist chair; the kind where they didn't bother claiming you wouldn't feel a thing.

When the voice didn't respond Darien tried, "So I love the plan: kill everyone. Big win for you there."

"Kill all of you, certainly, and possibly those amongst us who are first generation. The second generation will be quite safe. They will inherit a world made new again."

"You're sure of that? Really, really sure?"

"Completely." A figure finally walked into Darien's view; a small, dapper looking man in a lab coat. He looked about Stark's age, but really, with Chrysalis, who could tell?

What he _definitely_ looked was confident.

"Yeah, okay, you look pretty sure." Darien tried a different approach. "Won't all the first generation be a little upset? I mean, why not wait another couple hundred years? 'Cause I gotta tell you, your retirement plan kinda sucks."

"We are honored to usher in the brightest of futures."

"We're honored. Of course we are," Darien said flatly. There wouldn't be any reasoning with this one, but Stark he wasn't so sure about - the man had always seemed to have a healthy instinct for self-preservation. "Okay, Uncle Mengele, why am I still alive? I mean, you got me in the scary chair and all, where're the drills?"

"We're hoping to harvest the gland - I would like to save it from the virus if possible. As the prototype, it's a remarkable feat of bio-engineering and now that the flaw has been removed, it should be archived."

"It hasn't been fixed." Darien laughed and injected just enough morbid amusement to give his lie something to run with. "I was just telling Adam that to make him feel better, give him something to hope for. The kid's a Popsicle, he needs all the good news he can get."

The doctor looked perplexed, "You realize he couldn't hear you?"

Fawkes scowled. "Maybe he could, you don't know."

"I assure you, I do. I was a part of the team that developed the cryopods. You weren't lying." But the doctor didn't sound quite so certain anymore.

Darien smiled confidently. "Yeah, I was. Take the gland, find out. Keep' was close, maybe you could do the rest. Oh, except you probably need to not be dead for that, right? Darn."

The doctor frowned and then abruptly spun away towards where Darien hoped the door was. Not that privacy would help much - his fingers were still drug-numbed and what little he could feel of the restraints didn't give him much hope.

But the quiet was nice. The pounding in his chest, less so. He'd thought at first it was just the adrenaline from waking up in restraints (and really, he would have thought that would be easier after the fiftieth time), but it wasn't abating and the numbness in his fingers began to give way to a burn.

A familiar pain started to build in the back of his head. That wasn't possible, it couldn't be possible. His chest tightened and his heart beat faster.

-o-

"Keep'!" Hobbes jumped out of the doorway as Claire passed. She managed not to shriek, but she couldn't quite stop herself from starting.

"Don't do that!" She let herself be pulled into the recess of the door and behind him, and then peered around his shoulder at the fenced-off run of warehouses across from them. "They're in there?"

Hobbes nodded, self-satisfied. "All tucked up tight."

Claire looked at the dilapidated old buildings dubiously. "Are you sure? You said there were decoy vans, maybe-"

"Bobby Hobbes does not lose the pea." Hobbes looked left and right and then threw his hands up in surrender. "Look, I scratched their van up pretty good before I left, I only had to follow the one with the scuffs.

"I let them think I'd fallen for it and then picked them up a couple blocks later. Pretty sure they didn't see me - some master race." He sniffed disparagingly.

Claire grinned. "That's -"

"Disappointing?"

"- complete genius," she finished.

Hobbes smiled uncertainly and then more fully once he was sure she wasn't mocking him. "Of course it was - who do you think you're talking to? But it's like making a magician reveal his secrets - you know that, right? I guess I don't mind if it's you. Keepers can keep secrets."

Claire nodded, entirely sincerely. "We're known for it. So how are we getting in?"

"We're not getting in. You're giving me the needle, or pill or whatever and I'm going in."

"Not a chance." She tightened her fingers around the box in her hand.

"It's dangerous in there, Keep'."

"In a warehouse full of Chrysalis, really?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm aware of the risks, but I have to go, Bobby. I have to monitor Adam and …" Claire bit at her lip, "… and Darien."

Hobbes pulled his attention from the warehouse to her fast. "Fawkes? Fawkes is fine. You said Fawkes was fine."

"He is fine. But – look, the injection I gave him to overcome the need for counteragent made intrinsic changes to the way the gland works. How it reacts to levels of hormones, and chemicals and … adrenaline. When Fawkes first had the gland, it took him time to learn how to control it, this is no different."

Bobby stared at her. "Did you tell him this?"

She flushed and raised her chin. "I didn't tell him because I was hoping that he'd be able to adjust more easily if he wasn't actively thinking about it. And it was working, it was working very well, but he hasn't been tested under these kinds of stresses.

"I did tell him how important it was he let me monitor him for the next few months, if you recall."

"If he'd have known why, he might have-"

"Actually listened to me for once? I quite liked to think we were past that, Bobby."

Hobbes winced. "I didn't mean it like that, Keep'."

"Yes, well. If you want me to trust you enough not to look behind the curtain, you need to trust me too." When Hobbes nodded, she smiled and warmed her tone. "Come on, where are we going in?"

Hobbes nodded towards the far gate. "Over there, the camera coverage isn't a hundred percent; probably a rush job. If we're careful, they won't see us coming.

-o-

"Where are they, Eberts?" The Official barked from behind his desk as soon as Eberts opened the door.

Eberts stared at him for a long moment and then said, "I believe they were visiting Adam Reese."

"I didn't ask where they were. The Keeper isn't in her lab and Fawkes and Hobbes aren't responding to communications - what are they up to?"

Eberts drew to a stop before the desk. "I honestly couldn't tell you, sir."

They stared at each other for another long moment before the Official grunted. "We have a problem, Eberts."

Eberts relaxed enough to bring his clipboard up and begin rifling through the papers until he found the sheet he wanted. "Oh, agreed. We have no idea how Agent Hinkel managed to get a hundred gallon tank out of supplies without anyone seeing him, let alone in the elevator, but we're confident that-"

The Official's hand slammed down on the desktop so hard the blotter jumped. "Not Hinkel! Forget Hinkel!"

"Forgetting Hinkel, sir."

"The spooks are sniffing around again, one made it as far as the lobby this morning. CIA. NSA. DHS. All the petty agencies are hovering. Like vultures."

"Actually, sir, the largest bird truly capable of hovering is the pied kingfisher, which -"

"Shut up, Eberts." The Official's eyes narrowed dangerously. "They want Fawkes. We fixed him, they can't have him."

"Absolutely not, sir."

Against the odds, a large smile broke out on the Official's face. "Unless we hand him over. Give it twenty-four hours, they'd be begging us to take him back."

Eberts shook his head. "Probably not, sir."

The Official sighed, disheartened. "No, probably not. But I want a shoot on sight policy, you understand? Anyone sees an acronym approaching the building, they're to shoot on sight!"

Ebert's paused with his pen above the memo paper. "With tasers?"

The Official glared; Eberts chose to interpret that as an affirmative and made a mark on his notes. "With tasers. And where would you like unconscious bodies disposed of? We could pile them on the sidewalk again, but we may receive another warning from the city for littering, or obstructing pedestrian traffic."

"I don't care, Eberts. Just deal with it."

Eberts made another note on his clipboard. "Yes, sir."

-o-

"Bobby -- no, wait!" Claire fell the last couple of feet and sat down rapidly to keep herself from falling forward; it saved her face, but it didn't do much for her behind. Hobbes swung nimbly down the gate and dropped down beside her a couple of seconds later.

He stood and his hand came down to help her back to her feet. "Sorry, Keep'. Hands slipped. It's not that you're heavy," he added with a gallantry Claire could have lived without. "Could've held you all day and all night. Not that I would at night. Unless you wanted me to, because if you _wanted_ me to-"

"Yes, thank you, Bobby. You can be quiet now. Please." He subsided into a red-faced silence; she checked the contents of her bag for damage and then looked around at the silent buildings surrounding them. "All right, now where?"

"Just follow me - right behind me. The corridor is pretty tight and the timing has to be perfect or, smile, you're on camera."

"Okay." Claire took a breath and then followed carefully in his wake.

-o-

The gentle pinging of machines had almost lulled Darien back to sleep, but at the sound of the door his eyes opened, wide and alert.

Two pairs of footsteps made their way closer, but Stark didn't speak until he and the doctor were standing in front of Darien. "Doctor Hoon tells me you're claiming you lied to Adam." Stark made a disapproving noise in his throat. "Really, Darien? Lying? That just doesn't seem like you."

Darien shrugged as much as the restraints allowed, "Well, you know. People change. Wait, Doctor who?"

"Hoon," the doctor corrected sharply.

"Right, Doctor Who?" Darien let his grin widen.

Stark shook his head, as if Darien were an unruly child. Which, Darien had to admit, not so far off the mark in this case. "Well, to be certain you're not lying, we can just wait, can't we? Use the Quicksilver. If you haven't succumbed to madness within a few hours, we can be absolutely sure."

Darien laughed. "And what do you possibly think you can offer me to do that?"

"We'll delay the restoration process – how about that? Two hours, or until the madness - you'd be buying time for your friends and whatever rescue they're planning."

"Nice." Still, two hours was two hours, was a hundred and twenty minutes. Stark might be arrogant enough to think it was a slap in the face, but Darien knew exactly how much Hobbes and Claire could do with that time. "How would I know you were really doing it?"

Stark raised a black remote and a monitor flickered on. It showed a cryopod, and further monitors giving various angles of the contents - of Adam. The time counted down in red lights on the pod's LED.

"Just say the word, Darien."

Darien smiled hard and looked Stark up and down. "So, you're good with extinction, Stark? Taking that last ride with us peasants?"

Stark looked back steadily, but there was a hint of something more than mindless fanaticism in his eyes. Something scared. "Of course. Who wouldn't give everything for the future of their children?"

"Really, Stark? Lying?" Darien mimicked blandly, "That just doesn't seem like you."

Stark returned a tight smile. "This is a limited time offer, I'm afraid. After a certain period of time the process can't be halted and we'll be reaching that point in minutes.

"Stop it," Darien ground out.

Stark raised an eyebrow. "Quicksilver first, Darien. Please."

Darien breathed out and then, _in_. The cool rush of the Quicksilver began to flow up his skin; he left his raised middle finger until last and gave doctor and director the Cheshire bird.

Stark smirked and raised his voice, "Stop the restoration."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Stark," Hoon said calmly.

Stark rounded on him. "What are you talking about? I'm giving an order."

"If you recall, my wishes to build an automatic restoration procedure into the pod were overruled. However, Ms. Dale has agreed there should be no _pause_. In less than an hour restoration will be complete."

Stark drew himself up. "Tabitha is not in control of this installation, Hoon. I am."

Hoon said nothing and Darien couldn't see anything pass between them at all, but after a few moments Stark seemed to wilt in on himself and said quietly, "I see."

Darien watched the emotions play across Stark's face with a savage kind of happiness. The pounding in his chest giving way to joy as the pain in his head spiked and was – not gone, but not a part of him that he cared about anymore: inconsequential and meaningless in the face of the important things in life. And death.

He flexed his hands under the heavy Velcro restraints and then began to pull. The sharp fabric caught at his wrists, but not for long as his skin tore and blood flowed; it slicked the way and slowly, slowly began to set him free.

The only problem was how long it was taking, how bored he was getting as Stark swallowed and swallowed again while Hoon stood there and said nothing.

Stark coughed. "Well, in which case I believe I will leave this in your capable hands, Doctor Hoon."

Hoon frowned, apparently mystified. "You're leaving? You don't want to see it wake?"

Stark nodded rapidly and brought out a sickly smile. "As much as I want to, and of course I very much do, I think I should celebrate the event with my wife and son." He turned back towards Darien – towards Darien's chair, anyway - and gathered his composure. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to harvest the gland and hope you weren't lying."

Darien let the Quicksilver shed slowly away, and then brought his head up. His grin was wide and sharp. "Look in my eyes and tell me I'm lying."

-o-

Hobbes pulled the pick out of the lock and pushed open the door. It swung into a deserted corridor whose gleaming, sterile white walls belied the outward appearance of the building. "Fourth time lucky."

Claire shuffled in behind him and then checked her watch. "Less than an hour, we have to find him – _them_ – quickly."

"Yeah, I got that Keep'."

"You could call me Claire, you know. We're breaking and entering together, and everything."

-o-

Stark took a fast step back, and then another.

With a final wrench, Darien freed his hands and brought them up to undo the strap around his neck. "Hey, I'm as surprised as you, Stark. Really. Bluffing all the way."

He reached forward to free his ankles and then slipped off the chair to stalk slowly towards the two men who watched as if hypnotized. "What color are they? You can tell me. We got red, or we got silver? Because I got to tell you, I'm feeling red or dead."

"Red," Stark stuttered as Darien stopped a precise six inches in front of him. "They're red."

"See, I knew it. I knew it." Darien nodded absently and then swung around to punch Hoon out. He heard a crack and dimly felt the sting in his knuckles as the scientist dropped to the floor.

Darien turned back to Stark and slung an arm across his shoulders. The blood from his wrist dripped down the white shirt collar and he was caught for a moment by just how beautiful it was.

He shook himself out of it and started them walking. "So what do you guys do for fun around here? You know, when you aren't kidnapping children and trying to murder a planet. Disco? You have disco?"

"You heard him – Hoon - there's nothing I can do," Stark tried to placate.

"No, well, hey. You did enough. I'd say you did more than enough." Darien squeezed Stark closer, just to hear him choke. "And now you want to go home to your wife and the kid and try to escape. I get it."

"You're going to let me go?"

"Sure, Stark. You get me to Adam and his pod and you can do whatever you want. Go fly a kite."

Darien took them both out into the corridor and wasn't surprised to see two monkeys in suits leveling guns at him.

They looked scared; he liked it.

He pulled Stark in front of him and kept walking. "Tell them not to shoot, Stark. Or, hey! Tell them to shoot. Are they good shots? Are you a betting man?" He looked back to the monkeys. "Feeling lucky?"

"Don't shoot." Stark's voice barely cracked, Darien was almost impressed. "Stand down. We're going to the cryochamber, keep the corridors clear."

The guns were lowered and the men backed up before them; Darien was disappointed, but he figured he'd get over it … especially with a gun. He reached forward and plucked the gun from the closest paw. "So well trained. But who's Tabitha, Stark? New boss? That's gotta hurt. Look on the bright side, she'll barely have time to sit in the chair."

"That door," Stark pointed, awkward with Darien's arm around his neck. "In there."

"Huh." Darien booted the door open and there it was, the pod, all shining and clean. He pushed Stark hard into the corner of the room and kicked the door shut behind them. He circled the pod twice and then looked up. "So, question: if he's dead before the hormone levels spike or whatever, no virus?"

A flare of hope lit Stark's eyes before it banked down to bright cunning. Darien could actually read the man's thoughts; that if the kid died and it wasn't Stark's fault, well, who was to blame? Stark licked his lips and nodded slowly. "If he dies, you're safe. It may be the only chance you get, you should do it."

"Your only chance too. You and Tabitha – let's not forget Tabitha. I got bad news for you, Stark. I'm not going to kill him. He gets to live. But you, you get to die."

"Darien, no!"

There was a voice Darien knew. He frowned and turned, and there in the open doorway were the Keeper and Hobbes. "Could've sworn I shut that." He shook it off and flung his arms out widely. "The gang's all here! Come on in. Pull up a pod person." He perched back on one containing some old guy with wild white hair.

Claire and Hobbes walked slowly into the room; Claire carefully pulled the door shut behind her as Hobbes picked his way closer to Darien.

"Fawkes, how you doing?" Hobbes was watching him warily and that was kind of annoying, but Darien was having too much fun to want to kill him today.

"I'm good, Hobbesy. I'm great! How're you?"

Hobbes stopped just within arm's reach and shrugged. "Me? Eh, you know. Fair. Fair enough. So what's the game, here?"

"Well, Stark says he wants Adam to wake up and kill everyone but, honestly, I'm just not feeling conviction there. I think he wants me to kill Adam so he doesn't have to die right along with the rest of us."

Hobbes nodded. "And what's your plan?"

"We could ask Adam. He'll be awake in ten minutes."

Hobbes coughed, "Hey, Keep'? You got anything for this, maybe?"

Darien rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder, "What he's asking is, you got any counteragent, Claire? Do you?"

Claire shook her head and answered calmly. "No. I don't. I don't need it, Darien. You can fight this."

"What if I don't want to fight it?"

She smiled. "You do, though. I know you, Darien. You don't want to hurt anyone. You don't want to make Adam hurt anyone either."

"Make him? Hey, it's not like we can stop it, so how about we teach him to enjoy it. Maybe that's the least we can do."

"You can't make it okay for him, buddy," Hobbes said, all unreasonable reason. "It's not like talking up a bad jump shot."

Darien stood away from the pod and stalked closer to him. "Could be. Stark thinks it's okay to kill everyone, he just wishes that didn't include him. Adam could too." He looked past Hobbes to the man trying to mold himself into the corner. "You could talk to him, Stark. Explain to him how it's okay."

Claire inched forward until she was close enough to lay her hand gently on his arm. "Darien, what if there was a way to help Adam?"

He shook her away, sending her stumbling backwards until Hobbes reached out to steady her.

Darien gestured sharply, mindless of the gun in his hand and only enjoying the dual flinches. "We're not killing him. You're not killing him."

"No killing! I have a treatment, Darien. I've been working on it for months. Ask Bobby."

Darien spun automatically towards Hobbes, who nodded. "It's true, Fawkes. She can help him. Me, I'd let her help him."

Claire went on soothingly, "But if you're like this when he wakes up, he's going to be scared. So scared he might try to stop us helping him, and then it will be too late."

Darien stared pensively at the pod, then, "I could kill Stark, would that help? I'd really like to kill Stark."

"I … don't think that would help." Claire cast a frantic look to Hobbes behind Darien's back and then modulated her tone into something even more calming. "Do you remember how you learned to control the flow of the Quicksilver, Darien? With Kevin? Show me what you did," she coaxed.

"With Kevin?" For the first time Darien's voice sounded uncertain and Hobbes got what Claire was trying to do.

He nodded encouragingly. "You told me you could make the Quicksilver do whatever you wanted."

"I can," Darien answered defensively.

"So show us. Make your arm invisible, Darien. I mean, if you want to. Only if you want to," Claire added quickly, remembering the last time he thought she was telling him to do something.

Darien glared at her, but focused out and _in_ and pulled the silver up his arm in a wave. Then the other arm, then only his hands, then only his wrists. Half his face, every other rib; it was engrossing.

"That's pretty impressive," Hobbes said, breaking his concentration.

"Thanks," he replied absently, and then began to fall as the sudden wave of vertigo crashed against him and pushed him down. A hand caught his shoulder and slowed the descent; another cushioned his head before it hit the ground.

Hobbes pulled him closer until Darien was resting back against him; Darien stared at the blood on his hands. Hobbes' voice above him sounded faint and unreal. "I got him, Keep'. You got the kid?"

"The pod's opening!" Through swimming vision, Darien watched as Claire ripped open the box in her hands and withdrew a syringe filled with a purple-tinted liquid.

"What's – what is -?"

"She did it. Come on, buddy – you gotta get up, I need your help. You just gotta lean." Fawkes obediently let himself be tugged to his feet and then staggered after Hobbes. They put their backs to the door as the first blow against it sounded from the other side.

He fell forward and then threw himself back as the world snapped abruptly back into focus. "What happened?"

"We'll discuss it later. Just keep them out of here, gentlemen," Claire mumbled around the syringe cap in her mouth as she carefully tapped the bubbles from the fluid.

The metal door jumped again as someone tried to ram their way in.

Darien looked around and finally realized they were one down. "Where'd Stark go?"

Hobbes' mouth tightened. "Made a run for it, we were a little busy."

Darien watched as Claire bent over the pod and steadily injected the fluid into Adam's arm. "How will we know it worked?"

Claire held the still-unconscious boy's wrist up. "If this goes back to white, we were in time. If it doesn't, we've all been exposed. In which case … well, our options will become significantly more limited."

Adam stirred and sat up fast, blinking and confused. "Darien?"

Darien grinned, even though he could see the metal band on Adam's wrist was still red. "I thought we agreed that was a stupid name."

"Yeah – I." Adam looked around, still blinking. "What's happening?"

Claire shook her head minutely and Darien shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, what with the door shuddering at his back. "We came to say hi, see how it was going. Old friends can't drop by, now?"

"Not … really." Adam looked quickly down at the bracelet on his wrist and then rubbed at the darkening bruise in the crook of his elbow. "What did you do? Did it work?"

Claire stepped back. "We tried something and … so far, no, I'm afraid it hasn't worked."

Adam stared at her and then began scrabbling at the cover of the pod, trying to draw it down. "You need to get out of here. Put me back!"

Darien pushed back against the next thud and felt it all the way up his spine. "Well, we would, but it takes a while to set up one of these pods. Anyway, there are some people in the corridor who'd prefer it if we hung around."

"Is this – is it – " Adam looked up at Claire, but her eyes were firmly on the bracelet.

"I don't know, Adam. I'm sorry."

Adam stared down at the bracelet for a few seconds and then whispered, "Maybe if - maybe I should be- "

"Maybe you should sit there and wait for it to turn white," Hobbes ordered firmly. "And when it does, we'll get out of here and you can kick Fawkes' ass at that Halo thing."

"He will not kick my ass. Not for, like, the first two or three minutes at least."

Adam gave a tiny smile and then gasped, half a second behind Claire. They waited long enough to move that Darien was about ready to yell, but then Claire reached forward and threw a hug around Adam's thin shoulders. "White! It's white!"

Darien laughed when Adam gently pushed Claire back, looking more than a little abashed. "I'm okay?"

Claire's exuberance faded a little. "Sort of. I'm afraid this was somewhat experimental. You'll need more injections and there will be … side-effects. But only while I refine the treatment and I promise you, I will."

Adam looked thoughtfully down at his wrist and then back up to Claire. "Is one of the side-effects going to kill everyone on Earth?"

"No, definitely not."

"Then we're good."

Hobbes coughed. "Well, this is great, really great - I don't want to ruin the moment, it's that great. But we do still have people who want us dead out in the corridor and I don't see any way out of here."

Darien looked around and then up at the monitors. "Stark!"

Nothing happened, he tried, "Stark, you talk to me or I'm talking to them and you know what I'm talking about."

A single monitor flickered on and Darien raised a hand to give it a lazy wave. "Hi, Stark. Let us out of here or I'm telling everyone your dirty little secret."

Stark sniffed. "You won't even get the chance."

"Really? You think so? Me, I think they can hear me through this door if I shout loud enough." He took a deep breath and yelled, "HEY! I WANT TO TELL-"

Hobbes winced away from the noise and Stark shouted, "No! Fine. Safe escort from the building."

Darien nodded. "That's all we need. I won't tell them and, unlike you, I keep my word."

The monitors snapped off and the pounding on the door stopped. Hobbes counted a slow ten and then cautiously opened the door. He poked his head out and then ducked back in quickly, but no bullets followed him.

"Clear." He pulled his gun from its holster and gestured for them to follow.

Hobbes led them through the now-open gate and all the way to the car without incident. Darien stared at the blue Taurus. "We have a new car?"

Hobbes shrugged uncomfortably. "I borrowed a ride. Don't complain."

"I'm not complaining. Is the person you 'borrowed' it from complaining?"

"They probably will," Hobbes nodded. "When they wake up."

Hobbes drove carefully back towards the Agency offices, keeping more attention on the rearview mirror than the road ahead – at least until Claire shrieked and grabbed the wheel to move them back in lane.

Even at his most paranoid, Hobbes would have had to admit they weren't being followed. In the mirror he saw Adam and Fawkes sliding towards sleep until they were both out cold, heads together and probably drooling.

Times like that, it was worth it. Kind of sad he didn't have a camera, though.

When he drew them up to park in front of the offices, Claire put a hand on his arm but her gaze was firmly forward and up. He followed it.

Interesting.

"Bobby?"

"Yes, Keep',"

"Were there men in suits hanging upside down from the streetlights when we left?"

"No, Keep'."

"Oh. Well … good."

-o-

"They say," said the Official, "that it's better to ask forgiveness than permission." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "They're wrong."

Claire bit the inside of her cheek and tried to look repentant. She didn't do very well, but – as when running from a predator – she was fairly sure she just had to do better than Bobby and Darien.

"We figured it was implicit," Fawkes said. "We knew you wanted to do everything in your power to help Adam."

"That's right! We _anticipated_," Hobbes agreed. "That's why we're your top agents. Sir."

"And you also felt I _implicitly_ wanted Adam Reese sent back home."

Darien held his hands out. "Well sure, what else would you want? The woman posing as his mother had already made arrangements for him to stay with a very nice family –"

"Devious daughter, though," Hobbes interjected, not quite _sotto voce_.

"- very nice, occasionally devious family before she even called us. He only needs the injections yearly and Claire-"

Claire made an urgent coughing sound, but it was too late, the Official had turned his glare on her. "Oh yes, your wonder cure."

Claire tried to turn a wince into a smile and suspected she wasn't terribly successful. "Well, I wouldn't say it was-"

"Oh, I would. I would call the funding alone miraculous. Eberts! The last three quarterlies-"

"Show no signs of diverted funds," Eberts said smoothly.

"- are the – what?"

"As you can see, the Keeper made several purchases that are well within normal lines for the research she was conducting. In fact, her department was the only one to remain within its budget." Eberts waved papers in front the Official's face, ran his hand down a blurring line of figures and then slapped the three-inch ledger closed.

The Official sighed with heavy disappointment. "So they got to you too, did they?"

Eberts stepped away. "I have no idea what you mean, sir."

The Official leaned back and steepled his fingers across his chest. "Of course you don't." A slow, terrible smile broke out over his face. "Well, can you _anticipate_ what I'm going to do now?"

They stared at each other and then mutely shook their heads.

He leaned forward and pressed the intercom on his desk. "Agent Hinkel? I've found you four volunteers."

-o-

The Fat Man laughed and laughed.


End file.
